


Dive bars and Dumbbells

by Soupernabturel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Bartender Dean Winchester, Beefcake Cas, Cas is T H I C, Chubby Dean Winchester, Comfortably Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dating, Dean and Cas are in that awkward stage between the first couple of dates and a relationship, Dean is T H I C K, Developing Relationship, Early Days for the Boys, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Personal Trainer Castiel, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Subtext says John Winchester's an Arse, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, buff Castiel, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: All things considered, the potential assault charge and face punch included, Dean can chalk up his second non-date date with the cute beefcake he’s been chatting up for weeks, to an overall good night.





	Dive bars and Dumbbells

**Author's Note:**

> As always **Unedited, unread, unbetaed**

Dean’s in a mood.

He can see coming into the Roadhouse a few of the regulars lining the bars, booths, and pool tables, though there are a few new faces Dean has never seen before. It’s busy for this early in the evening, on a Tuesday, that’s for sure, but with the crowd the Roadhouse typically draws, even if it is a gay bar, Dean rarely finds himself fixing up fancy cocktails. He knows he’s gonna just be pouring straight liquor and passing out beers but still, with the way today’s been going, Dean won’t be surprised if he gets glassed or something.

Though that’s not likely with the Roadhouse crowd.

Ellen’s tending bar tonight, which means Ash was rostered on but has somehow found a way to weasel out of it and no one else could take his shift. She looks miffed, then a little pleased as Dean rounds the bar (there was a time when he could’ve jumped it, that time is no longer). She makes no comment as he pours himself a fifth of whiskey, downs it, then pours another.

“You wanting that taken out of your paycheck or have you got cash on you.”

Dean smacks the glass down and rubs the back of his hand over his mouth. “Yeah, that works.”

“Haven’t seen this Dean in a while.” Ellen says, not without a bit of concern. She steps in close, takes the bottle from his hand. “Special occasion?”

Dean leans back against the counter out of her reach. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t get far, Ellen closes in, grabs his hand. Dean winces, tries to pull back, but Ellen’s got him caught, she frowns looking over his bruised knuckles. Rubs one finger across the little on the left and Dean sucks in a breath. “Fight with the old man?”

Dean doesn’t like the way Ellen’s looking at him. “Fight with, _a_ man.” This time, she lets him go.

“I swear, you Winchester’s are going to be the death of me.”

“You wound me Ellen.” Dean says. “And it’s fine, _tis just a flesh wound_.”

Ellen doesn’t appreciate his candor.

“Get back behind the bar and do something useful. I’m going to go get you something for that hand.”

“I’m f—” There’s no use really, talking to Ellen’s back. Not when she’s being all grizzly mother bear, it’s like nothing gets through that skull.

There’s not really all that much that needs doing between Ellen heading out back and Ellen coming back, Dean fills up maybe one jug for a couple in the corner, before Ellen’s back, a bandage and alcohol swabs on hand.

“Not top shelf?” Dean asks, nodding to the swabs.

“Stupidity isn’t worth that much.”

Ellen works in silence, whether it’s bandaging up the various wounds her staff waltz into the Roadhouse with (Ash once came in dragging a plank of wood attached to a nail in his foot) or admin in the office, Ellen works best with silence, Dean’s happy with that, cos if Ellen starts talking now she’s going to be telling him off or digging for something.

He’s soon pleasantly surprised.

“I might need you to help me with stock take in the morning,” Ellen tells him, looking meaningfully down at where’s she’s wrapping Dean’s hand, holding the end down with masking tape. “My couch is open to your if the trip back home’ll be too much.”

She doesn’t look up at him, which makes it easier Dean just wants to hear the caring not see the pity.

“Yeah might do,” he replies quietly. “Thanks Ellen.”

  

_______

  

Improved by the place to stay tonight, Dean’s feeling a little better by the time his shift really kicks in, when Ellen’s stopped shooting him motherly concerned looks and is focused on having the night run smoothly. 

Dean’s at one end of the bar, when Pamela, who starts an hour after him, and still in a gay bar whose clientele is mostly men, gets majority of the tips (the men are just intimidated by how much of you they’ve gotta love, she often tells Dean, squeezing his sides), slides past him with a full tray.

“Beefcake’s here,” she purrs in his ear. Ruffles his hair and slips away.

Dean frowns a little at the back of her head, his hands are occupied by the beer he’s pouring, giving it a full head.

“Don’t call him that.” Dean likes to call him that, in his head, sometimes. Cas physically is a beefcake, but too quiet and thoughtful really for the other connotations that go with it. He’s never call Cas _beefcake_ to his face and certainly doesn’t want Pamela scaring him off with this shit.

“C’mon it’s a compliment.” Pamela, rounding the other side of the bar, tries. “Did you want me to serve him?”

Dean makes the hand wave equivalent of a ‘fuck off’ while Pamela just laughs.

“Hey Terminator,” Pamela calls out as she passes the end of the bar, passes Cas, expertly whisking away her tray and her drinks to their table. “Dean’ll be with you in a moment.”

A part of Dean wants to just ignore Cas a little longer, just to make Pamela have to serve him and stick it to her a little. But this is Cas, Cas is here, Dean’s excited to see him. He finishes off the guy he’s serving (a guy he politely turns down, hey he’s fat and he’s hot shit) and slides down to the end of the bar, where Cas is sitting.

Where Cas in a tight fitting white tank with a swooped front and, yep, Dean leans over the bar, his work out shorts, which are his _work_ shorts, he's also sitting on his endearingly dumb, ill-fitting coat.

Cas is a good-looking guy on a normal day, a very good-looking guy. In his training gear though, even sitting there scrutinising the bar nuts like they’re growing something funky (they’re not Dean changed the bowl last and someone’s gotta have changed It since then), he is a very good-looking guy, intimidatingly so. All swelling muscle and sharp lines, those fucken thighs—

Yeah so Cas is good looking _andforsomereasoninsistsontryingthisdatingthingoutwithDean_

Dean staring at Cas, his too-early-to-call-a-boyfriend-boyfriend, and Dean immediately averts his eyes.

Like a thirteen-year-old.

God.

Cas gives a two-fingered wave and almost knocks over his bowl of nuts.

Dean has to smile to himself a little as he makes his way down to where Cas sits.

Cas gets up a little out of his seat, and Dean leans a little over in his. One date. He’s not sure after one date they’re at the kissing hello stage yet, that level of familiar affection then they’re only really just starting to get to know each other beyond the PT who drinks only coke at a gay bar and the fat freckled bartender that serves him. So, a hug maybe? Dean leans over the bar to do just that, but he’s jolted back a bit by his own belly putting more distance between him and the bar and subsequently _Cas_ then he’s like. It squished between him and the bar edge, silvered stretch marks crawling up his hips and front shown off to anyone looking as his shirt rides. Damn.

Dean’s bell actually folds over the bar top as he presses harder, trying to get that contact, his pudge rolling out from under his shirt and fuck, Cas is fucking ripped, thick, compact and Dean’s all belly and fat and—

Cas bridges the gap between them by kissing Dean’s cheek.

It’s comical, the way Dean draws back, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lifts a hand to his cheek and says.

“Oh.”

Cas’ eyebrow lifts as he draws back. “Oh?”

“I-uh, wasn’t sure we were there yet,” Dean admits, wanting to stop himself from doing so as he’s admitting it. “I was uh, going for the hug.”

The playful quirk is gone from Cas’ expression, his cheeks slacken and his eyes grow wide. “Oh, god, yes, I apologise—”

“No. Don’t.” Dean holds up a hand. Cas settles, still looking abashed. “Was nice.”

Cas’ answering smile is a small, soft thing. He sits back down. “Oh.”

They’re still at that stage where silences between them are still kind of awkward, though there tends to be a general aura of awkwardness around Cas al the time that puts him in a position of seeming awkward in his own body (despite how obviously hard he’s worked on it).

Dean leans on the bar, hoping for casual. “I give it, about, a seven out of ten.”

Cas looks at him, confused. Dean flushes. “The kiss.”

“Oh.”

Dean shrugs (what he hopes is nonchalantly, a little cheeky, maybe). 

Cas puts his elbows on the bar top, a kick to his lips. “Only a seven?”

“Well, it _was_ on the cheek.”

“I see.” Cas hums a low, pleasing note in his throat. “I’ll remember for next time.”

His wink is more of a blink as he does it with both eyes scrunching.

Dean swallows, the joke turned a little more down into the possibility of _something._ “Sure, okay.”

Cas must note the shift in tone, his smile widens, he sits back in his seat, and thumbs the edge of the bowl. He does nothing about it, nothing about how he could lean over and kiss Dean right here right there, dragging him across the bar (belly be damned) Right now though, instead, he goes for the new bowl of nuts. Observing Dean in that open, interested way he does, in that way that had him catching Dean’s attention (noticing the body came _after)_ that first brought the two of them together in this thing.

“You’re blushing.” Cas notes.

Dean groans, “stop it,” he repressed the urge to burry his head in his hands.

Cas chuckles—actually  _chuckles—_ something warm and teasing. “A Coke?” he asks, a small reprieve.

“All that sugar’ll rot your teeth.” Dean tells him, but goes to get it anyway.

When Cas has his drink he sits back and looks around the place a little. “Busy?”

“Not bad for a Tuesday. You?”

“I lead a Pilates class today. I regret it immensely.”

Dean goes to rap his knuckles on the bar, the sudden sting holds him back. “Ah-f— yeah umm, that aerobics man, all that, _aerobering_. You want a Coke? I’ll get you a Coke?”

Dean cradles one hand in the other, while his back is turned to Cas. He takes a moment to let his hand cool off in the fridge as he grabs a Coke can from below. When he returns, it’s to Cas watching him strangely, sipping his…oh, right, sipping the Coke Dean already got him.

“Only the best, preemptive service at the Roadhouse.”

“You’re acting strangely,” Castiel observes. “Why?”

“I’m not acting  _strangely_ ,” Dean spits around the word, hands down on the bar top. Cas’ eyes glance down and yep, his expression twists. He eyes Dean’s bandage like it’s a foul, dirty thing.

“Dean, your hand, what happened?”

Dean tucks his hand back. “Nothing.”

Cas doesn’t relent, though. He just keeps staring, and Dean rubs his hand, his _other_ hand, over his face.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Cas,” he says, in a tone he hasn’t really used with Cas before.

Cas’ brows furrow. “Is it serious? Did you cut yourself.”

“Look, no okay, I didn’t do it. I mean I did, but I…” Dean tries to laugh, but, yeah, a pretty shitty attempt even he can hear it. “Looks, it’s nothing us, it’s nothing personal, right, it’s just me stuff yeah? I try not to talk about my emotional baggage at least until the sixth month mark in a relationship, unspoken rule and all that, is that, can that be cool with you? I just don’t really want to get into these things on dates.”

Cas’ expression’s all smoothed out, his eyes doing that thing that they do when he gets all ponder-y, he used to sit like that at the end of the bar, with his Coke, before he and Dean really talked, he just used to sit there, thinking.

Slowly, Cas smiles, he leans back on his stool. “This is a date?”

“No. Shut up.”

“I just came here.” Cas begins, tone light. “To my usual watering hole.”

“Watering hole? What are you Cas, a _mobster_?”

“Stick em up see.” Cas tries, in a truly, terribly awful accent, made all the more brilliant by his completely deadpanned delivery, fingers curved into kiddish guns. “Spill dem beans kid. Pow Pow, rattatattat.” 

Dean swats at him, (shit Cas’ arm is _toned_. Christ,) “Stop trying squeeze it outta be alright? And dinner first before you try n’finger gun me.”  

Cas blows on his fingers like gun barrels, pretending to stick them down by his sides. “A fair trade. When do you finish tonight?”

Dean realizes then Cas is asking him to dinner, a late dinner it would have to be, by the time Dean knocks off.

Dean feels his face warming and has to turn away. There’s some customer anyway, their painted nails tapping on the bar top, looking at him. Dean waddles over, acutely aware of Cas’ eyes on him, Cas’ wonderful goddamned eyes, what a shit head. Dean has to smile, and yet he’s over here serving some person just so he doesn’t have to say anything nice back (and probably stuff it up).  
  
Let it never be said that Dean Winchester is a smooth motherfucker.

Cas is patient, cheery, when some time later Dean finds his way back over (everyone all of a sudden wanted drinks, okay?) “Y’know, a’lotta customers ask me out around here, it’s general policy to refuse them.”

Cas goes along with the tease. “Perhaps that should have been something I was informed of, before we first went out together.”

Dean shrugs. “Was a little distracted at the time.” He bites his lower lip.

“It was the bike shorts wasn’t it.” Cas says, looking down on himself. “People always loose themselves in the bike shorts.”

Dean refrains for adding that’s there was not really a whole lot of bike short to loose himself in. He also keeps to himself, just how, yep, those shorts their first night out, as in, with Dean out from behind a bar and Cas out in the world other than the bar, those shorts (for as little as they had been on, Cas brought a duffle to change) had been, delicious.

Cas’ smiling. “Since we’ve already started.”

“I know how you hate leaving stuff unfinished.”

Cas nods. “Burgers then, wherevers open, when every you get off.”

Dean feels his face split into a grin. “I fucken love burgers.”

“As do I.” Cas agrees, and the two just smile at each other, for as long as Dean can manage before he’s called back.

“You sure you don’t want something a little stronger than that?” He asks before he heads to the other end of the bar.

Castiel looking up at him, tilts his head and asks, “Like what?”

Dean snorts an ugly laugh that catches in his throat, though he’s not entirely sure if Cas meant it as a joke or not.

 

__________

  

Usually, at this hour at this time of night, Dean shift starts to drag a little, but with Cas sticking around it actually moves pretty smoothly. Sure Dean doesn’t get much time to sit around and chat, but he’s always the one heading over to top up Cas’ drink, Cas makes little observations throughout the night, comments to Dean as he slips past for a glass, a beverage, a rag he left at that end of the bar last time he was sidling up with Cas. Sometimes, while serving a customer or cleaning up the bar, Dean’ll glance over and see Cas fiddling with his phone, glancing about the bar in vaguely bored curiosity and Dean, yeah, Dean’s pretty damn smitten if the lurch in his chest is anything to go by.

When they make eye contact, Dean at one end of the bar, Cas at the other. There’s something…sparking between them, the snaps of a crackling fire outside, it jolts Dean up as he inevitably starts to lag around the midnight mark.

As the midnight mark passes Dean leaves a customer to Pam as he draws up to Cas, and thumbs the other man’s empty glass. Cas is actually halfway through a yawn before he notices Dean.

“Thanks for waiting,” Dean says. “Just an hour more, then burgers, my shout.”

Cas smiles and shrugs. “I don’t mind. You’re good at the work you do, I enjoy watching you.”

“Perve.” Dean smiles as Cas’ face heats a little. So, he’s not wrong. “You like watching me walk away.” Dean turns his back for effect and looks over his shoulder. Cas’ eyes drop and Dean smirks. He’s got a great ass and a lot of it.

“There’s a whole great deal of you I enjoy watching.” Cas says and _peels_ his eyes away. His gaze on Dean’s face sends heat through him. “Away, is at the bottom of my list.”

Heat, yeah, one hour left, sixty minutes, Dean can do this and then they’re going to have wholesome burgers and Dean’s going to go home and think about if this is what Cas’ gaze does to him then imagine what his hands’ll do.

Dean can’t really help how, his voice comes out all surprised. “Really?”

Cas’ flirty, narrowed eyed look in return is short-lived when a harsh “Fuck off faggot” cuts through the air from a back corner in the bar, there’s the sound of something smashing then, Pamela calling out, “Hey none of that shit in here.”

Dean’s around the bar and heading over, Cas close behind before he really processes anything.

“Fucker tried to get me.” Dean hears a man, white, burly, more of a never-recovered-from-being-popular-in-college-and-not-in-his-thirties, say. The guy stands up, stands tall, Dean takes in the scene, this guy’s standing up, fists clenched, there’s Aaron, a regular, cool guy, kind of cute, Dean’s been responsive to his over the bar flirting but not since Cas, and now he’s stepping back, eyes friggen wide, hands up like he’s gonna get hit- or already has been.

“Hey man, if you’re not into it.”

“Fuck off fag,” the guy slurs, alright so he’s drunk and seemingly doesn’t know that he’s in a gay bar.

“Hey,” Pamela snarls, she can get vicious when prompted. “None of that language here alright? That filth, now, pay for your night and go home, you’re cut off.”

“Fuck off.” The guy snaps back, then realising Pam’s well, Pam, he stumbles forward. “C’mon Honey, I’ll be friendly.”

“There a problem here?” Dean asks, sizing up to the guy, who’s leaking absolute toxic-masc testosterone, as opposed to the nicer, calmer testosterone the Roadhouse is used to.

“The fuck are you?” The guy’s eyes can barely focus on him. Dean’s been working here long enough, around alcohol and smart asses long enough to know where this is headed, he figures better to cut it off right at the start.

“Alright, c’mon. Man.” Dean goes for firm, but gentle, he steps up to the guy. 

As drunk as he is, the guy’s swing is pretty fast. It’s not the full speed of normal, as although Dean does clock it it’s in the cheek-jaw space under and in front of his ear and not anywhere else, like his damn eye or something. 

Still, it’s enough of a blow back to get Dean rocking back a bit.  He recovers, unfortunately having been clocked enough in his life to not be taken back by the hit.

Course he doesn’t recover quickly enough until Cas is rounding up, all ridiculous shorts and tank under a damn coat, come on and grabbing the guy by his wrist and his front.

“OI!”

“You’ve been asked to leave.” In comparison to the chaos, Cas’ words are like a whisper, sinister, friggen _scary_.

The drunk guy looks fit to shit himself, or throw a hit at Cas.  
  
“Cas!” The harshest Dean has ever spoken to him, a bark that has not only catches Cas’ attention, almost dropping the guy, but it also has the guy and Aaron whirling to him. But when Dean steps forward and does speak, it’s just for him and Cas. “Hey man, no.”

Cas’ is already moving off from the guy and from the line before Dean’s even really finished. He takes a step back.

Dean clicks his jaw, yeah that’s smarts, that might hurt tomorrow. He rolls back one shoulder, course now the drunk guy’s done a little swinging he’s all confused now. Dean grabs both his arms, pulling them back and behind, the guy whines and wriggles, it hurts it hurts, but Dean knows this hold, it only hurts if the guy _makes_ it hurt.

Dean stomps off, pushing the guy ahead of him, up out to the door.

“Right, you’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight,” he says as he walks. Outside the air is crispy. The guy trips and stumbles but Dean’s got a hold of him, he’s alright. “And I wanna go out for shitty burgers with my freaking hot boyfriend after this, and make out a little so I ain’t gonna knock you flat or make anything of this, so,” they’re on the sidewalk now, a part of Dean wishes he had a cowboy hat to tip. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

He lets drunk guy go, who stumbles onto the pavement, barely catching himself. “Fucken.” The guy spits, actually spits, a phlegmy gross thing, then whirls on Dean, lurching forward.

Cas is there, in line with Dean’s shoulder. “Get. Out.”

The guy stares, swirls, but seems to think, facing off with the two of them isn’t worth the effort. He flips them, spits again. “Fuckenfuck,” spouting bigoted shit off as he heads into the night.

Still kinds stung, a bit. Maybe on behalf of Aaron, maybe on behalf of the Roadhouse, but he bites back. “AND THIS IS A GAY BAR YOU IDIOT. DUDE’S’LL HIT ON YA!”  
  
It’s chilled out here, Dean’s hot he turns, finds Cas still with him. Heated, Dean looks away, not liking the un-fun turn the night’s taken, how the sweetness of the last few hours has been soured, something Cas must sense by the open, hurt expression on his face.

“Dean,” Cas says, reaching forward with one hand. He cups Dean’s cheek with rough, thick fingers. “He hit you.”

Dean shrugs, but not hard enough t dislodge Cas’ soft touch. “S’okay. Got some padding.” He laughs to keep it jovial, maybe, maybe the night can be salvaged. But god, if he isn’t a beaten, broken thing by now, if he’s even still undamaged enough for a guy like Cas. “C’mon, let’s…”

Cas just steps forward, the hand that’s cupping Dean’s cheek threads around into his hair, pulling him in and then, it’s just touch. Dean melts as Cas’ mouth finds his, his eyes have shut, there’s a gentle, then firmer press. A press and then an opening.

Deepening the kiss Cas brings them together till Dean’s stomach presses up against his, mouths are a hot push pull of teeth and tongue. Cas’ breath is a Coke-y tingle, sweet and warm it floods Dean, and _fuck_. Dean’s arms find their ways into Cas’ body, one hand coming up to press a palm to his chest. Hard, friggen sharpened, but there’s enough give there to make Dean want to pinch, to grab and pull.

Cas is vibrating and Dean thinks he might be going fucking crazy because, god he wants to just eat Cas whole, isn’t that fucked up. His skin’s like the soda, all bubbled and tingly.

“Okay?” Cas asks, after…some time… he pulls back, his breathing ragged. Cas’ eyes are on Dean’s mouth and Dean can’t really lie and say he isn’t fucken drawn to those, surprisingly giving lips. The look Cas is giving him thought, makes Dean’s knees turn to jelly.

It’s hard not to smile. “Y-yeah,” and somehow they’re kissing all over again, pressing smiles into each other and then soft little noises. Dean pulls Cas in by the lapel of his stupid trench coat and kisses him open mouthed, he goes to catch Cas’ lower lip between his teeth but Cas had a different idea and Dean giggled against Cas’ skin when he ends up nibbling Cas’ chin. Stubble scratchy on his lips.

“Living up to a dangerous stereotype.” Dean murmurs. They’re still grabbing furiously a hold of each other but are so close that Dean’s pretty much almost speaking directly into Cas’ mouth, words more gaspy. “Guy gets turned on by violence, classic toxic masculinity.”

Cas, pulls back a little, enough that Dean can see more than his nose. Cas stares at him with his damn blue eyes, lips parted, slick and deliciously swollen.

“I took a gender studies course in college,” Dean breathes. “Had some stuff to work though.”

When Cas laughs this time it isn’t interrupted. “You are,” he smiles. Both firm, grown hands cup up to cup Dean’s face as though he’s a marvel. “You are—”

Cas kisses him, closed mouth. The kind of kiss at the end of those classic movies, where the music swells.

Somewhere, a car alarm goes off.

“Thanks,” Dean’s breathless. Drawing back with, what he’s pretty sure is going to be a permanent smile, even if his face hurts, his smile is hurting harder. “I have to get back.”

“No.” Cas shakes his head, then peppers little no’s onto Dean’s lips, hands still holding him. “No.”

“Yeah, yep, yes I do.” Dean’s drawn helplessly into more kisses. When he escapes it’s like a man in love with drowning gasping air. “…Fired…”

Dean does after some _reluctant_ work, manage to dislodge his face from Cas’, though their hands are just intricately linked now, there’s no going back, those suckers have brought a timeshare together. “C’mon.” Dean tugs, Cas back from the pavement. “After that I think I can get Ellen to let me off early. One more drink, then burgers?”

Cas holds Dean back a little so he can properly thread their fingers together. He groans. “Mmm,” and that’s just a whole other _delicious_ issue all together.

“You really like burgers huh?” Dean asks with a crooked brow.

“My splurge food,” Cas agrees, following Dean in. “Though it might not count if I lick the taste out of your mouth.”

Dean trips right up to the bar, Cas following close behind him. He does manage to act pitiful enough, or maybe Ellen just can see through his and Cas’ absolutely shitty poker faces, to get out early.

Early Wednesday morning is spent on a park bench with Cas’ coat over his lap, the man in question by his side and some takeaway wrappers between them. Eaten and enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> It has actually been SO LONG since I've posted a brand new work and not just finishing off longer fic (which you should check out) I almost got lost in the posting process XD 
> 
> Send help to www.soupernabturel.tumbr.com


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